


The Good Boy

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jealous Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even the threat of Hell can keep the preacher's son away from Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liliaeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/gifts).



> Prompt: "Dean is an semi-out bi mechanic, dealing with issues left over by his homophobic father. Cas is the closeted gay son of a preacher, who starts working as an accountant at the garage dean works at. When he finds out that Dean is bi, he tries to turn Dean's co-workers against him. It doesn't work, and Cas has to come to grips with his issues with his own sexuality."

The Lord was testing him. He had to be. There was no other reason he'd be put in this hell, in temptation's direct line of fire unless He wanted Castiel to learn something, change, and cast away his sinful ways under the duress. He _wanted_ to change. _Tried_ harder than he'd ever tried with anything. But it hadn't been so simple, he discovered. It just got more difficult the more he sustained, the more he didn't allow himself a little taste here and there. A peek at online porn. Reading the articles in _Play Girl_. Every time he failed to ignore his sinful tendencies, the more disappointed he'd get, the more hopeless. If only he were someone else. More like his father, maybe, unwavering in his faith, a pastor like he was, surely he'd never be tempted again. 

But he wasn't. He was just him. Some waste of space failure who couldn't look his father in the eyes anymore. An accountant at some... awful auto garage practically in the middle of nowhere. A homosexual—who couldn't stop thinking about his boss. What his lips would feel like on his own, how he kissed, what it might be like to...

Castiel closed his eyes tight and mumbled a quick prayer, quietly begging for forgiveness. His office's wall clock ticked loudly, counting out his sins, and the sounds of mechanics fixing cars on the other side of the wall drilled into his head. He got caught up in its rhythm, the steady, powerful insistence of it, and the white noise carried him away. No longer was he faithfully praying in his office at Winchester's Auto Shop, but bent over his desk while his boss Dean fucked him, driving into him hard—no stopping, not even for a breath. He wanted to break under Dean's thrusts, have the sin and the impure thoughts driven out of him under Dean's strong fingers, by the deep bruises on his hips. He wanted to be punished. He wanted to hurt.

He needed salvation.

But salvation didn't come for him. The growing heat in his pants was his ticket to Hell—and he'd go willingly because he was nothing but weak and worthless. And it was that weakness, that temptation, that led his hand from his knee, slowly up to his inner thigh. He thumbed his balls, then his erection, and bit down on his bottom lip. A strangled noise in his throat betrayed him, and he cracked open his eyes to see if anyone had heard it. No one had, and he took it a step further, palming his hard cock gently. It felt good, and the thought of kissing Dean drove him to knead it over his pants. Maybe if he just touched himself a little, didn't come, he wouldn't be sinning. A little didn't satisfy him, and as his fantasy Dean slipped a hand down his boxers, he did too, touching bare skin, gripping his hardness until he had no choice but to slip his fingers down its length. His breath hitched, caught like a bird in a cage, battering against his throat. He thought of touching Dean, and sped up, jerking off harder, faster—

The door swung open. "Yeah, yeah. Keep workin' on her. We'll figure it out."

Castiel pulled his hands out of his pants, shifted, and pretended to throw himself into a dizzying computer screen of numbers and accounts. Out of his peripheral, Benny gave him a once over, then cleared his throat. Castiel acted surprised, like he hadn't noticed him, and smiled. "Hello, Benny."

"Cas." His wry grin frightened him. "You jerkin' off in here?"

" _What_? No!" Castiel snapped, scandalized. His throat went dry.

"Whoa. Take it easy, brother. Just teasin' you." Benny arched a brow. "You alright?"

"Yes."

"Then get your ass on over to Bobby's. He said you been lookin' for 'im."

Oh. Right.

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Better make it quick, bright eyes. You know how he gets when he's left waitin'."

Benny shut the door on his way out, leaving him alone, awash with guilt and shame. Castiel took a deep breath and let it out slowly, until his heart stopped hammering against his ribcage, until he was somewhat calm and collected. The nervous jitters rustled under his skin still, and he peeled open the slats in the blinds. Looking for anything out of the ordinary—like Benny telling the whole garage he'd caught him masturbating. Benny was staring at an engine instead, while everyone else went about their business. No one knew.

He let out a sigh of relief and hauled himself out of his chair. The meeting was only about some much-needed vacation time, nothing that would make him _this_ nervous. A couple of days away from the garage would do him good, time he'd use to devote himself to the Lord again, to pray and beg for Him to take away his horrible _need_ for a man's touch. Maybe this was the perfect time to tell his father, to seek out his guidance, his help. Commit him to one of those conversion camps, he didn't care. Anything to get away from his awful inclinations, and stop the bullet train ride to Hell.

With a fortifying exhale, Castiel left his office and shut the door behind him. In the main garage, Benny was nose-deep in a car's engine, peering at it like a doctor might at his patient. Ash and Jo stopped talking enough to nod at him as he passed by. If he were a normal man, he would've felt something for Jo, some sort of attraction, but he wasn't normal and he didn't. Her bright eyes and kind smile always lightened his mood, but never affected anything below his belt. He never once thought of how she might feel under his hands, or how she'd look naked—and it was so very _wrong_.

Castiel wrung his hands and nodded at them, hustling toward Bobby's office as quickly as he could. Something banged on the floor, a wrench maybe, and Castiel practically jumped out of his skin. 

"The fuck is Dean?" he heard Benny ask. "Dean! Quit your goddamn flirtin' and help me with this thing!"

Castiel stopped cold. There he was, in all his glory, standing next to a customer. A _male_ customer. Too close for comfort. When Dean threw the man a wink and turned away, Castiel gripped his hands into fists and clenched his jaw to breaking. His outsides were steel and cold, while inside, he fell into an abyss of black-tar jealousy, self-loathing, and hatred for a man, a customer even, that he didn't even know.

"You okay there, Cas?"

Castiel turned and stared into green eyes, and completely melted. He wasn't angry or jealous, or murderous, but liquid and _smiling_. Dean had that effect on him—everything was okay when he was near Dean. The way Dean smiled at him, glanced at his lips before looking into his eyes... it made him think of passionate nights spent under the covers, bathed in post-sex sweat and love. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Dean had closed the distance between them just a little more, and Castiel flushed, dreaming of empty fields, blankets, and nights staring at the stars together. But all of it, sweet nothings and happiness, came crashing down when Dean held up a piece of paper, said, "Got his number," and winked. 

Castiel watched him saunter off, left behind cold, sad, and _righteous_. Fists clenched at his sides, he stormed into Bobby's office and slammed the door.

:::

"Dean... _what_?"

Castiel swallowed, looking down at his fingers. "I... didn't want to believe it at first, Mr. Singer. But the garage's taxes—they haven't been filed in three years."

It was supposed to be a meeting about vacation. Not pure, vindictive _revenge_.

Bobby leaned back in his seat, fixing him with a glower that'd take down any man. "And you're sure?"

Castiel nodded. It was the only thing he could do.

"Goddamn it." Bobby sighed. "Look, I know nothin' about taxes, son. All I know is that Dean was responsible for 'em before you came along, and I can't see him missin' somethin' as big as that. He wouldn't put his own garage at risk." Castiel opened his mouth— "You gotta take it up with him, and that's all I got't'tell you."

Revenge wasn't God's way of fixing things.

Castiel sighed and nodded, then left his office without another word.

:::

He'd gone back to his office, shades drawn, door closed, simmering over numbers and accounts. Several customers got a stern warning, sterner than his usual soft-spoken reprimands, about their overdue accounts. Papers were whipped around instead of shuffled. The phone was slammed into the receiver instead of gently hung up. All because he hadn't successfully gotten Dean—what? Into trouble? Castiel sighed. 

Homosexual _and_ childish.

It was half past two in the afternoon when his door whipped open. Castiel jumped ten feet high, papers aflutter like stray feathers. He froze in his chair when Dean slammed the door closed behind him, when Dean, even more beautiful angry, glared at him. "What the fuck, man?"

Castiel took in a breath, and it felt like hot coals in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but Dean was on him before he could say anything, hands flat on his desk, leaning over to breathe hot air down his neck. He'd be afraid if he wasn't so... _aroused_. 

"Dean," sounded more breathless than he'd have liked.

"Bobby told me that you told him I hadn't paid the garage taxes? The fuck. I know I filed those taxes, Cas. I did them myself. In fact..." Dean rounded his desk and crowded him, going for one of his desk's drawers. Castiel folded his hands in his lap so Dean wouldn't see the evidence of his sin. "—look, dude. I even have copies of them."

The tax papers flopped on his desk with a note of finality. His lies out in the open. "Why'd you say that to Bobby, Cas? Why'd you lie to him? Trying to get me into trouble?"

"I—" Castiel licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I was just... mistaken."

"You're an accountant, dude. Someone filing taxes is a pretty hard thing to miss. Especially when there's copies of them _in your desk_."

Castiel lowered his eyes to the floor, about to apologize when Dean grabbed his chin and pulled it up. He studied Dean's face in all of its glory, the flash of anger in his eyes, the dusting of freckles over his nose—more obvious now because of how much sun Dean had been getting. Those perfect lips... 

A sizzle of heat zipped through his body, leaving him flustered, his face red. His cock hard. Reminding him that he'd always be an abomination to God and a disappointment to his father.

"I don't like how you treat your customers," Castiel blurted out. Angry. Mostly at himself. "Your _male_ customers."

Dean lifted his eyebrows and let him go. Standing back on his heels when it dawned on him— "So, what? You lied about the taxes? Because I happen to like _men_? Is that it?" His nostrils flared. "You homophobic asshole. I _knew_ I shouldn't have hired some... preacher's kid."

"Dean—"

"Pack your shit and go."

"What?"

"You're fired."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. He stood up, and they squared off face-to-face. Personal space be damned. "You can't fire me based on my religious beliefs, _Dean_."

"No, you're right, Cas. I can't fire you for that. But there ain't nothing in the law that says I can't fire you for being a dick." He thinned his lips. "I think they call it 'not the right fit for the company.' Sound about right?"

"Fuck you," Castiel said before he could think.

Dean laughed. _At him_. "Yeah, because that's Christian-like."

Castiel grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him into a wall. Dean's eyes flew open wide, then narrowed dangerously when he said, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kick your ass right here, right now."

Something overcame him. The closeness, their combined body heat. The harshness of the anger in Dean's eyes, the softness of his cologne, light and barely there. Smelling of an earthiness he couldn't place, mixed with sunlight, car oil, and _Dean_. It drove him to lunacy, and Castiel kissed him with a gentleness that didn't belong. Dean's lips were soft, full against his, and when Dean's stubble scraped his cheek, it was everything he needed and nothing he wanted at the same time. Dean didn't shove him back, but _gave in_ , sweeping his tongue across his bottom lip, as if asking for permission. Castiel let him, and their kiss deepened, with them tasting each other. Hands roaming where they shouldn't. Everything was right—and wrong—and Castiel broke off the kiss just to save himself.

Dean smiled like a Cheshire Cat. "I see what this is about now," he said, cool and calm. "You're gay, aren't you?"

The idea of it, that _word_ , made him sick—but he didn't care, not anymore, not when Dean was snaking his arm around his waist, pulling him close, and kissing him again. Everything about his father's sermons and going to Hell fell away, lost, forgotten, as they crushed their mouths together. Eager, needy, Castiel forced his tongue into Dean's mouth, and Dean, patient, wanting this too, let him. It ignited him in ways he couldn't control, and Castiel yanked Dean closer by his belt, fumbling with buckles and his jeans' buttons, while Dean did the same to him. Skin to skin now, touching Dean, running his fingers along his cock, Castiel fought to keep it together, to not come like a teenager. But when Dean touched him too, gripping him like he owned him—and he did—Castiel couldn't stand it anymore. He needed Dean _now_ —prostrated bare-assed over his desk. 

Dean went down without a fight, laughed a little even, and whispered huskily, "Eager, aren't you?" like this very thing had happened more than once. Castiel knew of his lascivious ways with both sexes, but being taken in a manner like this, and not even flinching...

"You a virgin?" When no answer came— "Here. No lube, so make sure you get it nice and wet. Spit, precome, whatever, man. Just don't fucking hurt me."

Castiel slipped the condom on and spit generously, coating himself as best he could. If he went slow, he wouldn't hurt him. But that was harder to ask for, even harder to do, when all Castiel wanted to do was fuck Dean senseless. Somehow, he managed it, though, sinking into him inch by painstaking inch, slower than he thought possible. Dean was open and relaxed for him—how often had he been with a man?—taking all of him without a sound of discomfort. Then, glancing over his shoulder and winking, Dean said, "Fuck me, Cas. _Hard_."

Saying _no_ never crossed his mind, and Castiel laid into him, pumping his hips, ramming his hard cock into Dean over and over again. If Dean liked it, hated it, he didn't notice, so overcome with heat and how Dean's body clenched around him. How Dean gave and gave under him, accepting everything and more. It was too much for him, and like a virgin, he came hard inside him—and that's when the shame set in. As soon as he let go, darkness and despair consumed him, and his father was there in his brain, telling him he'd burn in Hell for eternity. But he didn't want to think about that, and with Dean still hard, Castiel took action, grabbing Dean by the arms and almost single-handedly moving him to his office chair. Dean opened his mouth to say something, confused, shocked maybe, but Castiel sunk to his knees in front of him. Better not to think of anything at all.

So, he didn't. Castiel took Dean in his mouth and sucked, concentrating on making Dean feel good, instead of his father's anti-gay sermons, raging hellfire and brimstone. He'd never done this before, sucking cock, but Dean didn't seem to mind, kneading his scalp with greedy fingers. Making little noises in his throat and even moaning once or twice. Since he was too damaged to worship God, Castiel worshiped Dean's cock instead, tightening his lips around his length, sucking until his jaw stiffened. Dean came just as quickly as he had minutes before, and Castiel gagged with surprise, turned his head and spat. Heaved, then threw up his lunch. All of it... his homosexuality, fucking Dean, sucking him off—it was too much to handle, and Castiel dry-heaved again. He'd burn for this if his father didn't kill him first. He felt alone, afraid, depressed, until Dean gathered him up in his arms, and then he felt saved.

Against Dean's chest, he felt whole. Normal. Like he didn't need to suffer.

"You okay?" When Castiel said nothing, just clung to him, Dean said, "Hey. I know what you're going through. I'm betting your preacher dad isn't going to like you being gay if he ever finds out, huh? My dad wasn't cool with the idea and all, with me liking both dudes and chicks. Said he'd never been more disappointed in me his whole life, and that's saying a heckuva lot." Dean ran his fingers through his hair, and Castiel nuzzled his chest. "We can get through this together, you and me. We don't even have to, you know, do anything. Just talk, maybe. Although, hell, if you _want_ to do anything—" 

Castiel looked up, whispered, "Does this mean I'm not fired?" and couldn't help but smile, and Dean, patient Dean, thumbed a tear away and smiled too. 

"You can stay." Dean hugged him close. Oddly more affectionate than Castiel thought he'd be. 

They stayed there a while, just like that, holding each other. Letting the clock tick-tock to the gentleness of their new understanding. Maybe he'd be okay now, with Dean at his side. For the first time in a long time, he honestly believed he'd get through this because—

"I got you," Dean whispered.

—and Castiel believed him.


End file.
